Shift by Ginger Scott

17

It helps knowing my dad isn’t home and my mom will probably be avoiding me for awhile. She’s sent three texts, all half-assed apologies, minus the one that went on and on about how I’ll understand one day when I have a daughter. To spite her, I’m only having boys.

Tommy is messing under the hood of his car when I pull into the driveway. Dustin pulls in behind me. My brother walks around his car and through the garage and I chuckle to myself, knowing what I did in there last night. I wonder if he noticed smudges on his hood.

“Mom’s looking for you,” he says, his focus shifting from me to Dustin mid-sentence. “Not you,” he adds, just to be a dick.

Rather than engage, Dustin tips his head back with a short but condescending laugh. His eyes roll to meet mine, and I can tell he’s silently telling me this is a bad idea that won’t work. He should know better, though. I get my way.

“You got plans?” I ask.

My brother’s eyes linger on Dustin for a few seconds, a hint of a smile playing at his lips, but eventually he returns his attention to me.

“Maybe. Why?”

He’s a liar. He doesn’t have shit to do. It’s a Wednesday.

“We’re driving into the city. Dustin’s got a race.” Tommy’s eyelids raise, just a tick, but I notice. He likes the scene, as much as he thinks he’ll outgrow it. And any excuse to go into the Valley, where the towns aren’t so small and stifling, he leaps at it.

“Big one?” He looks back to Dustin; I turn to take in their exchange. Dustin is leaning against his front bumper, arms crossed over his chest, shirt lifted enough that I see a peek of his stomach and the deep red line of his boxers.

“Big enough,” Dustin says. “Mostly a money grab.”

“Scottsdale boys?” Tommy asks, mostly confirming. Dustin nods.

“I mean, we can go without you, but—” I start, dropping my proverbial fishing line in the water. It takes half a breath for Tommy to bite.

“We? Oh, no. Hell, no. We, yes,” he says, waggling his finger between him and Dustin. I step close enough to my brother to grab his hand mid-air and move his gesturing finger in my direction.

“The only we is the three of us,” I say, my other hand crossing fingers behind my back. I’ll go without my brother, even if I have to slip into Dustin’s trunk and sneak my way in.

My brother’s stare drills into my eyes, searching for cracks in my resolve, but when he realizes he won’t find any, he backs away with breathy laughter.

“Fucking hell, Hannah. Fine. Fine!” He pulls a work rag from his back pocket and wipes away some oil from his hands, then tosses the cloth into the garage and points to me. “You’re driving me.”

“Figured,” I say, my eyes fluttering at how dramatic he is. He doesn’t want to be in the car with Dustin because he’s still mad at him. It’s like when they were kids and my brother got butt-hurt over something, like Dustin beating him in a game of Sorry. He would pout and refuse to share the sofa during movies or eat at the same table for pizza. Tommy may be older than me, but maturity he is definitely lacking.

“San Tan?” Tommy asks Dustin. He nods to confirm where we’re going. It’s the only civilized conversation I expect them to have for the next several hours. Maybe days.

I won’t be so lucky. It’s about two and a half hours from our house to San Tan, so after a quick stop at the gas station to load up on fuel and drinks, we hit the road. Dustin purposely cruises behind me as we make our way into town, and it makes me smile when I catch his reflection in the rearview mirror. My brother is quick to call me out on it.

“You’re like a puppy dog,” he bites out.

“Am not,” I shoot back. I work to keep my eyes on the road, but after only a mile I catch myself checking my mirror again. My brother chuckles and I swing my arm in his direction to slap him against the chest.

“Ow, haha! Asshole,” he says, shoving me back. I swerve a little but immediately right the car. I’m sure that made Dustin nervous. I’ve never thought about things making him nervous before, but I like the fantasy that he worries about me. I don’t think it’s much of a fantasy anymore.

The playful moment lightens the mood a little, and I’m grateful. My brother turns up the radio and we join together, singing along with one of our favorite songs. I catch myself relaxing for the first time since we began the drive, my shoulders leaving the high perch they’ve been on near my ears. As one song shifts into the next, we both settle in, my brother’s gaze drifting off to the side, toward the rolling desert hills that become covered in pink-tiled rooftops as we get closer to town.

He chews on his thumbnail for a while, and his brow grows heavy as time passes without us talking. I brush my fingers against his arm to snap him from his daze and bring him back.

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking,” he says.

Tension climbs back into my neck and shoulders.

“What about?” I’m sure I already know, but it’s a long trip. I’m making the best of it.

My brother draws in a deep breath and looks out at the roadway ahead of us. Traffic is getting thicker, and a few cars have slid into the space between me and Dustin. He’s four or five lengths behind us now. When the roads open up, though, we’ll lose him. Or rather, he’ll lose us. Tommy knows the way, and Dustin will want to get his mind ready for speed.

“It was pretty fun, wasn’t it?” he says.

I glance his way, my face pinched. He shrugs.

“Growing up, I mean. The three of us. We had a pretty special thing.”

I consider his words, letting my mind drift to the slideshow of memories I keep close to my heart. In the story of my life, Dustin and Tommy are the co-stars. And for the most part—maybe ninety-nine percent of it actually—it was fun. The only times that lacked were those when Dustin suffered, and the last twelve hours.

“Yeah, it was pretty fun. I’m lucky to have you,” I say, holding out a fist for my brother to pound. He stares at it for a few seconds before letting his mouth inch up in a crooked smile and pushing his knuckles against mine.

“I’m sorry I overreacted,” he finally says.

The apology takes me by earnest surprise, and I know my face reflects my reaction. My eyes widen and my breath falls away.

“Don’t make a joke,” he adds, shaking his head and looking away.

“I’m not, I’m. . . I guess, surprised, is all.” I say.

He doesn’t respond, and I don’t want this moment to slip by without being celebrated—rewarded.

“Seriously, Tommy,” I say, grabbing his forearm. I squeeze it lightly until he turns to face me again. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

His lips form a tight smile and he breathes in deep through his nose, his shoulders lifting and freezing, hunched up, before he blows out and lets them drop.

“I still think this is a disaster,” he laughs out.

“Hey!” I tease.

“But—” he interjects. “I love you both. And if this is something you both want to try—if you need to try this—I’m in your corner. I will be here for you. I won’t like it, but I’ll be here.”

I shift my eyes from the road to my brother and back a few times, my smile growing, lips tight and tingling.

“You kinda like it,” I tease.

He lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head.

“I’m your big brother. I will not like any guy coming near you. But if it has to be someone, it might as well be him.” His eyes linger on me for a few seconds, and I know he means it.

“So, mom . . .” he starts, and I roll my head and stretch my neck in response.

“Gah! Don’t get me started,” I say, holding up a palm.

We spend the next two hours dissecting our parents’ personalities, and Tommy tries his best to give me advice on how to handle them when it comes to Dustin. Most of his ideas are shit, but when he suggests I write them both letters expressing all the things I can’t seem to say to them without our conversation escalating into a parent-daughter lecture, I agree he’s onto something.

Dustin blows past us somewhere around the middle of town. We don’t see a sign of the Supra again until Tommy and I peel off the main highway onto the state route leading behind the San Tan Mountains. There’s a thin sheen of dust on Dustin’s car, which is parked outside the diner we used to stop at with my dad when we rode down to Tucson.

My brother draws a dick and balls in the grime on Dustin’s window, and I’m in the middle of chastising him when Dustin’s presence moves in close behind me. An arm holding a cold lemonade reaches around me, a long straw poking from the cup. I take the drink and relish in the fact his arm moves in to hug me around the waist.

“I think you’re missing some hair on those,” Dustin says, pointing to my brother’s artwork.

Tommy looks over his shoulder and the two of them stare at each other for a beat. I don’t need to hear them speak to know they reached an understanding in that look: no need for apologies or more fighting. That’s what a lifetime of friendship does.

“You’re right,” my brother finally answers, adding a few dots on the window to accentuate his drawing.

“You guys are children,” I say, though I’m so warm inside over the fact they’re getting along like normal.

Dustin steps up and writes the words SUCK IT to the side of Tommy’s drawing and the two of them shake hands like bros, proud of their work.

“You should erase that before we get there,” I say, looking around the nearby service station lot to see if there are any window cleaning stations.

“Nah,” Dustin says, slinging an arm around my brother and crossing his ankles. “When I kick those rich kids’ asses, I want them to know,” he says.

“Know what?” I ask.

Both Dustin and Tommy laugh, and I get it before they answer.

“That they can suck my dick!” they shout in unison.

My brother climbs in with Dustin and I move back to my car to follow them the rest of the way to the race site. The sun won’t be down for a couple of hours, but this is part of Dustin’s routine. He likes to scout the landscape, even if it’s familiar. He doesn’t want surprises. Then he and my brother dig into the engine and inspect every inch of the car. The Supra will sing like a chorus by race time. And frankly, I don’t mind the view while they work. Especially when Dustin peels off his shirt and tosses it to me for safekeeping.